I could not get over how
blue is the sky,
as I wandered in solitude,
arching my neck,
trying to reach
ten thousand miles high.

And way up there but not quite,
they who live half a globe away,
blue they see but a blanket of grey,
their necks drooping downwards for salvation.

I could not get over how
blue is the sky,
as I sat on the grass
hugging my knees,
tossing my head,
my hair teased and danced with the wind.

And in their land no green exists,
only concrete and cement grey,
they hair down by debris weighed,
permanently singeing and scarring their skulls.

I could not get over how
blue is the sky,
as I looked up with partially closed eyes,
squinting, but smiling,
my cheeks and shoulders
kissed lovingly by the sun.

And for 3 moons no sun will come,
Decreed by mother nature,
If heat they felt it's flames of terror
mercilessly plundering their inner souls.

I could not get over how
blue is the sky,
to his invisible lips I respond with mine,
sending warm shivers down my spine,
they flitted with nymph-like grace,
planting golden droplets on my nose, my neck,
my face.

And they whose very beings were spared,
nevetheless their souls were scarred,
trying frantically to hold down the memory
of kissing their love for one last time.

And as I sat on the grass
waiting for my love to arrive,
I could not get over how
blue is the sky.

__________________________________________

Wrote this poem a few days after Sept-11. An acknowledgement to the victims of the aforementioned incident as well as victims of similar terror and hatred in the past. And how we are always so self-absorbed in our own little lives, always taking things for granted. In the face of all the talks about world peace and charity, the question we should ask is: "Do we really care about world peace, or do we only care about ourselves?"